A soldier that wouldn’t stay dead made their lives waking nightmares. They buried the abomination’s head to stop the killing, cast it into a cursed well where plague and insects festered in the dark. From the depths came a voice that damned them all, “I curse this Earth! Black waters shall take you! Vermin shall thrive in your flesh!” An empty threat perhaps? Generations passed, the secret forgotten, until drought drove Crow Hollow to dig where it never should have. The Black Water had been waiting for them. They unleashed a hidden flood that spread like veins beneath the land. The Black Water brought life at first, but soon utterly corrupted all it touched. Insects grew monstrous. Illness took the town. The sick began to transform. The dead refused to stay buried. Now the town is under quarantine, the infection is spreading, and something in the darkness is calling its missing pieces home.
The further the Black Water flows, the more the curse takes hold. Swarms of vermin gather in the shadows, chittering and clicking as if guided by a single will. Those who drink, soon begin to feel it change them. A crawling sensation beneath the skin. A hunger that isn’t their own. Flesh hardens. Eyes blacken. Voices twist into something inhuman. The infected are no longer victims. They’ve become something else, part of a legion that serves a vile master.
Survivors hide. The transformed hunt. The dead rise from their graves when the Black Water seeps in. They are drawn by the same dark call. Some say the Horseman stirs in his tomb, awakened by the call of what was taken from him. They say the horror can still be stopped, the evil once more put to rest. Others believe it’s already too late.
